


Schrödinger’s Wolf

by Jerakeen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fandom Snowflake Challenge, First Date, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:21:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29062746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jerakeen/pseuds/Jerakeen
Summary: Stiles is not used to being the saner person in a relationship, but he can probably make it work.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 99
Kudos: 734
Collections: Fandom Snowflake Challenge





	Schrödinger’s Wolf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elizaria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaria/gifts).



> For snowflake & elizaria's wishlist. Rambly fluffy fluff.

Stiles stops walking and blinks. “Did you just—it sounded like you asked me out.”

Derek’s shoulders tense. He seems to abort the shrug he was going for and lifts his chin instead. “I did.”

“Oh, I—“ This is not at all where Stiles thought today was going. “I didn’t—”

Derek huffs at his waffling. “You _can_ say no.”

“What? No! I mean, _not_ no. I’m saying no to saying no.” Stiles makes himself stop. Seriously. He’s thirty-one years old and still manages to sound thirteen when he’s talking to Derek.

“That’s a yes if I followed it right.”

Stiles gestures for him to start walking again. At least that way he won’t have to stare at Derek’s face as he splutters.

It takes him a minute to digest what’s happening, then he says, “I just didn’t think I was your type.”

“I didn’t know I had a type,” Derek says. “Other than _deadly_ but you do carry a gun…”

“Deadly, sure, but also dangerously beautiful,” Stiles mutters as he pretends to check out the window display of the hardware store.

Derek’s reflection smirks at him.

Stiles shakes his head. Whatever Derek’s reflection thinks, that wasn’t him fishing for compliments. It’s just an objective fact. Stiles is plenty handsome, but he’s not striking in the way he remembers Derek’s girlfriends always were.

Not that he knows what kind of people Derek dates these days. It’s been years since they spent any significant time around each other.

They walk side by side for a couple more minutes, until Derek pauses in front of the grocery store. “I need to get a few things if I’m going to cook dinner…”

He wants to cook dinner. For Stiles. For a date. Stiles’ brain is having trouble computing this.

“You always cook for a first date?”

“Is it a first date though?” Derek wonders. “We already had three coffee dates this week.”

Those weren’t _dates_. “We ran into each other—”

“Three times?”

“Okay, that does sound premeditated, but we never said they were dates.”

“Even if they counted for half dates, this wouldn’t be the first. More like two-and-a-half.”

By that count, Stiles is owed some kisses. He can’t bring himself to say it, but Derek’s smile says he’s read it in his face anyway. Derek has been reading him eerily well on their stealth coffee dates as well. It’s disconcerting.

“Okay,” Stiles says, nodding. He doesn’t even know what he’s agreeing to. Everything, probably.

“You want to come with?” Derek gestures at the double doors of the grocery store.

Stiles shakes his head reflexively. “Uh, no, I should—I’ll meet you at your place.” He needs some processing time. Though the idea of the two of them shopping and cooking and spending the rest of the day together feels very tempting, in a seriously worrying way.

He makes himself step back. “Text me your address.”

Derek smiles at him. He looks happy and fond and indulgent. Stiles didn’t know his face could do that. It’s so jarring. He wants to pet him. Which is also jarring.

He’s all jarred. Shook. Thrown a curve.

“I better…”

Derek nods once. “I’ll see you tonight.”

-

Derek Hale the failwolf used to live in dilapidated buildings. Derek Hale the deputy lives in an old, oddly narrow house that borders the woods. He’s still in his clothes from earlier in the day, making Stiles feel a little self-conscious about changing, but the feeling disappears soon enough when Stiles notices that his feet are bare.

Smiling Derek, he’s made his peace with. Derek as his dad’s favorite deputy, sure. Derek buying a house, okay. But Derek with bare feet? That’s right up there with Derek wanting to date Stiles.

His day has turned out so bizarre.

“Is that for me?”

Derek is trying not to laugh and it’s a good look on him. The dreamlike quality of the day intensifies. Stiles thrusts the bouquet in his hands at him.

“It’s herbs,” he explains. “I don’t drink wine and I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about flowers.”

Derek waves him in. Stiles takes off his shoes and arranges them neatly by the door; when he makes it into the kitchen, Derek’s already put the bouquet in a pitcher of water, one tiny radish dangling from the side.

“That smells great,” Stiles comments, just to have said something. He doesn’t want to be standing there with his hands in his pockets like an idiot. “Can I help?”

Derek checks the oven quickly. “It’s under control.”

“So… you cook now?”

Derek relaxes against the counter, hip cocked slightly. “On the weekends, when I have time. I remember you used to cook for your dad?”

“I did,” Stiles says, surprised that Derek ever even knew that about him. “It’s not the same when you’re cooking for one though.”

An assenting grunt from Derek, and they both go silent. They’ve been talking a lot this week, and Stiles enjoyed it more than he thought he would. Although, no, that’s not quite right. He always knew he would enjoy talking with a sane, calm Derek Hale; he just never figured he’d get the chance.

He must’ve been quiet for a while when Derek says, “You still think this is strange.” His face isn’t closed off, but he seems wary.

Stiles opens his mouth to deny it but then remembers Derek’s newly found Stiles-reading powers and shuts it without a word.

“It’s been three hours,” Derek notes. “I would’ve thought that’d be enough time for you to get used to the idea.” He makes a face. “Or call and cancel.”

“You thought I’d cancel a date with you?” It’s cute that he thinks that’s possible.

“We talked for two hours over a cup of coffee yesterday, so I didn’t think it likely.” Derek turns to give the sauce on the burner a stir, then speaks into the pot, avoiding Stiles’ eyes. “But I also didn’t think you’d be surprised when I asked you out.”

How is Stiles the only one struggling with this? “This isn’t the least bit odd to you? That you’re on a date with Stiles Stilinski?”

“I kinda like Stiles Stilinski.”

Ugh, that’s not what he was—now Stiles is going to have to _explain_. Dating people you don’t know is so much easier. First date with someone you’ve known since you were a teenager is a whole different ball game.

“We’re like—out of context?” he tries. “It’s like… I put you in a box over a decade ago, marked it unattainable, and you’ve been the Schrödinger’s wolf or something. I didn’t think about it since. Now, the wolf is out of the box and asking me on a date and cooking for me; it’s just taking me a moment is all.”

Derek is smiling again. A big, affectionate smile that shows off his adorable front teeth. Stiles likes it a lot. His heart starts pounding. It’s all _so weird_ and lovely and exciting.

“I don’t think that analogy quite works,” Derek comments, but his eyes say he doesn’t mind Stiles’ bad analogies at all. He’d like him to elaborate, even.

“You know what I mean,” Stiles mumbles as he watches Derek step closer. It’s a small kitchen, so they were already close enough to touch, and now Derek’s close enough for _other things_ , and Stiles’ heart is threatening to break out of his chest.

Derek tilts his head, considering him, and then leans in, a soft, easy move, and just like that, they’re kissing. It lasts only a moment, a simple press of lips, but it leaves Stiles blinking his eyes open and leaning forward, unsteady on his feet.

“Right,” he says, licking his lips. “ _Not_ unattainable.”

Derek’s eyes crinkle adorably. “Attainable,” he confirms.

Stiles’ hesitation disperses like the morning mist and in a classic Stilinski move, he swings too far the other way and finds himself scared that he’ll now lose this chance somehow. “I’m only here for two weeks.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of dating you?”

Stiles’ hand goes rogue and grabs Derek’s t-shirt. “That’s not what I meant.” As he tries to find the words, Derek starts thumbing through his phone, which is rude, seriously, Stiles is going to tell him to swipe his Tinder matches some other time, but then—

 _Route calculated_ , says a digital voice.

Derek holds his phone up. It shows 42 minutes from Derek’s place to Stiles’ neighborhood.

“It’s an easy drive.”

He has thought about this, Stiles realizes, marveling. He ran into Stiles three times this week on purpose. He’s cooking Stiles something that actually does smell delicious, and he’s looking at him with a soft, hopeful expression.

“Right,” Stiles says and bites his lip to keep the word-vomit in.

Derek knows he’s won – like there ever was a question – but he’s still explaining, talking softly into the inch of space between them. “We have a lot in common. I’ve looked forward to having coffee with you all week. And I’ve always been strangely attracted to you. That, apparently, hasn’t changed.”

Stiles snorts but he’s grinning. “Strangely attracted? That’s flattering.”

“You were a teenager,” Derek reasons.

“Okay, fair.” Stiles has to give him that; absolutely nobody wants to be attracted to a fifteen-year-old. “I always thought I’d be in serious trouble if I let myself think about you,” he admits.

“Hence the box?”

“It’s been useful.”

Derek leans even closer. Stiles’ breath stutters.

“Am I allowed out now? I promise you can put me back in if you get bored.”

Stiles stops trying to resist and kisses him.

-

Derek waits for him to put his shoes on, and then silently opens the door.

“This was fun,” Stiles tells him honestly, only half turning. “Thank you for inviting me.”

He wonders if he should go for a kiss, but they kissed before dinner, and Stiles doesn’t know what exactly the etiquette is for first and/or fourth dates that start with unexpected kissing.

He’s resolved to leave without pushing his luck, but Derek’s fingers on his sleeve stop him.

“Meet me for breakfast tomorrow.”

That’s even better than a goodnight kiss. “I’m supposed to wait three days and then call you.”

“You’re only here for two weeks,” Derek reminds him. “We can bend the rules a little.”

“Three coffee dates, a dinner date, _and_ a breakfast date in one week? That’s ambitious.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “If we’re counting the coffee dates this would be our fourth, and correct me if I’m wrong, but I think then I’d be allowed to ask you to _stay_ for breakfast.”

Stiles breathes out an embarrassing sound.

“Stay,” Derek asks softly. His fingers find Stiles’ and hold on.

Stiles kicks the door shut with his foot.

-

Derek’s bed is huge and comfortable, pushed close to a large window spilling morning sun all over it. Stiles stretches his muscles and then snuggles back into the covers. He could stay in this bed all day.

Derek is gone though. Frickin’ morning wolves.

Stiles takes in the room. It’s bright and full of personal knick-knacks. A couple of pictures on a shelf, uniform on a hook, shoes kicked off to one side, lots of books… They didn’t actually make it to the bed last night, so this is his first proper look.

At the back of his head, there’s a constant low-level alarm over how much he likes everything about Derek. He even likes the fact that Derek didn’t push for more last night, which could easily have gone to an X-rated place. They watched TV instead, made out on the couch. He lent Stiles some clothes and made him tea, let him fall asleep on top of him and possibly drool on his shirt.

They moved to bed before dawn and Stiles fell asleep instantly, though he does remember the feeling of Derek’s arms around him, which gives him butterflies when he thinks about it now.

It’s been a while since he shared a bed with someone and felt so comfortable.

“You up?” Derek asks, appearing in the doorway.

His voice is so nice. Comforting. Stiles turns towards him and smiles.

“Coffee?”

Stiles makes gimme hands and pouts when Derek puts the mug on the bedside table instead. He doesn’t feel like leaving the nest of blankets yet.

“Pancakes or omelets?”

“Mmmm. Both.”

Derek chuckles. “Are you going to help me make it?”

Stiles shakes his head. “Nope.”

Food sounds great, but it can wait for a bit. He reaches up for Derek’s hand and pulls him down on the bed. Well, he _tries_.

“Can we just pretend that I’m strong enough to pull you down?”

Derek huffs out a soft laugh and pretends to fall forward. Stiles pulls and tugs and arranges him close, their heads resting on the same pillow, noses almost touching.

“This is nice,” he whispers.

Derek nuzzles his neck and runs a bare foot up Stiles’ leg, hooking it behind his knee and pulling them tighter together.

Stiles lets out a sound reminiscent of a chew toy. There goes his peace. He narrows his eyes and rolls himself over Derek.

Not that Derek minds. His legs fall open to nestle Stiles’ body and his hands land on his hips, firm and warm.

“Huh,” Stiles says. He does not dislike this position at all. The view is nice, and he can pretty much take this wherever he wants now. “I do like having you under me.” His hips press down, and he runs his fingers up the side of Derek’s throat, running a thumb along his jawline. Derek tilts his head to accommodate him.

“You can have anything you want,” he tells Stiles.

Stiles groans helplessly. “You can’t just say that on a fourth date.” His forehead leans against Derek’s cheek and he nuzzles what he can reach.

“A date sixteen years in the making.”

Is it, Stiles wonders. They haven’t been pining or anything, but there was the box. He did keep that box, all neat and tidy, in a quiet corner of his subconscious.

Raising his head, he studies Derek’s face, his cheekbones, his eyes. He’s always been extremely handsome, but he was somehow untouchable to Stiles, not quite real, something only to be admired from afar.

Now… now, he’s projecting things Stiles would hesitate to name – not yet, not on the fourth? fifth? date – but it warms him from the inside and shushes the whining alarm bells in his mind. His gut likes Derek. His gut is already all in.

“I sincerely hope you won’t remember how annoying I can be,” he says, half serious.

“I do work with someone who reminds me of all your shortcomings daily.” Stiles is about to tell him how much he doesn’t ever want to talk about his dad in bed when Derek adds, “Who texted me, by the way, and says to tell you that he’s expecting you for dinner tonight.”

Stiles makes a face. “Should _not_ have told him I was with you.”

“I don’t mind,” Derek says, tentative.

“Yeah?”

Derek smiles at him. “Yeah.”

Stiles’ brain catches up with what’s happening. He drops his head, trying to smother himself on Derek’s chest. “ _Fourth date_ , Derek,” he whines. “Why are we so bad at this?”

“Just stop counting.”

“It’s too soon to stop counting.” Yesterday, he didn’t even know there was something to count. And besides, doesn’t it mean you have a boyfriend when you stop counting? That’s insane.

Derek rolls them to the side to see his face, and directs some more of that warm, addicting, irresistible focus at Stiles. “I don’t care.”

Stiles opens his mouth, but you know what, he’s got nothing. “You’re crazy.”

Derek chuckles, pushes Stiles’ hair back from his face. Stiles doesn’t moan at his touch but just barely.

“Tell me to back off and I will,” Derek informs him.

Butterflies explode in Stiles’ stomach. “It’s cute that you think I can do that.”

“You almost cut my arm off once,” Derek reminds him. “You’ll be fine.”

Stiles can’t argue with that, and—he doesn’t really want to. He’s not used to being the saner person in a relationship, but he can probably make it work.

Derek nudges him. “Breakfast?”

Stiles gives him a small kiss, the kind between boyfriends – because why not – and thinks, _really,_ _why not?_ This is the morning after of his first date with Derek but _maybe not_ , maybe it’s the fourth date, maybe they’ve been waiting for it for sixteen years, maybe none of it matters.

Maybe he can just keep him in bed all day and then take him home to his dad for dinner.

He pulls Derek on top of him, lets his weight pin him to the bed, and kisses him long and wet, dirty and messy. Derek looks a little wrecked coming out of it, a little shaky, and a lot determined. Clothes are pulled and pushed in a flurry of movement, Derek’s hands are on Stiles’ bare thighs, his breath is ghosting over heated skin, his mouth sucking a bruise on Stiles’ chest that leaves them both gasping and on edge, and then—it gentles and melts into something even more delicious; smooth, and thick, and fiery.

Derek trembles in his arms, and Stiles laughs as he comes.

Maybe he’s already a little bit in love.


End file.
